Cold Burn
by Tori Chiisai
Summary: A case of mistaken identity? When Will is plucked from the streets of Port Royal by thugs, finding him produces more questions than answers. With help from an unexpected source, could they find the ultimate treasure?
1. In the Cards

**Cold Burn**

By Tori Chiisai

**Disclaimer:** _Pirates of the Caribbean_ is property of Disney. No copyright infrigement intended.

**Warnings:** Minor language. Violence. Drinking. Hey, they're pirates!

**Author's Notes: **Chapter one is going to be a little different from the other chapters. I couldn't decide how to lie out the premise of the story, so it ended upbeing this hodgepodge of POVs, tenses, and persons. It's, well, it should be challenging to read. I want to try to sort it out in the later chapters, and make it all uniform, but I'm reserving the right to revert to the weirdness whenever I please. I will add a disclaimer here, too, that I am completely landlocked, and the only tall ship I've ever seen is the one in the West Edmonton Mall. I did some research into sailing, so any errors you see are entirely mine. Same with the very, very basic knowledge of tarot cards.

Special thanks to Forwyn Redearth for the encouragement, beta-reading, and figurative slap in the face whenever I need it. This one's for you!

CHAPTER ONE—In The Cards

I think the extensiveness of young Mr. Turner's education needs to be addressed. If I'da had him as me cabin boy, we wouldn't need to be in this tavern, the table full of empty glasses between us, and Will's fat head flopped down on his folded arms. He's not a happy camper, and for once, I don't blame him. It's not his fault he's stupid as the day is long.

But he's not me cabin boy, he's me drunken mate who's gonna have to go home at some point. The wench at the bar keeps eyeing him up, and while I'm sure ole Will would be nothin' but willin', I don't think his flag would even be running at half-mast, you know what I mean? Him bein' a eunuch and all.

Wasn't expectin' to find the young Mr. Turner here, that was for damned sure. The lad had ingested all of the grog he could before I even got here. If he knows I'm sitting with him that would be a miracle of Biblical proportions. As me and the Almighty parted ways a few decades ago, I'm loathe to believe that it's His intervention at work here.

The drink bein' the Devil's creation, after all. Turns even the finest gentleman into a scoundrel, according to a certain reliable source, who shall remain unnamed at this point.

Mr. Gibbs helps himself to the other chair at the table, grasping a handful of Will's hair to pull him upright. The boy's eyes flutter open for an instant, and he seems coherent for a second. "'lissbeth?" He slurs. Gibbs lets go, and he hits the table with a solid 'thunk.'

"Bit harsh, mate." I lean forward, grabbing what's left of his grog. Bloody awful stuff, I always figgered if yer gonna serve rum, ye might as well not water it down. Saves getting shot later. Then again, I can see the point of it. Young Will would have needed half of these flagons had he been drinking it on the straight up. I'm bein' generous in my estimation, Will might have been gone on the smell from the blessed cap.

"Ye think we be leavin' 'im 'ere, cap'n?" Gibbs asks. He looks like he cares nary a wit, but the man's a big bag of bleedin' heart, he is. Bets are off, because I know Will is going to end up tucked up all cozy in Gibbs's bunk tonight, while the old man takes the deck.

I shake my head. "Miss Swann would be bloody impossible to live with, if we did, dontcha think?" I swallow down the dregs, slam the cup on the table, and get up. "Come on, Mr. Turner. Time for beddy-bye."

"J'ck?" Bollocks, I would have lost that bet. He blinks up at me with hazy brown eyes. I swear I can see the rum sloshing around that head of his. "Feel funny."

"I'd bet." I throw his arm around me shoulder. "You feel like barking like a seal, you do it outside. And not on me ship." I add on that bit at the end, I figger it'd be somethin' I could blame him with when he wakes up. Hangover or no, I'm havin' the lad titivate me ship from the top to the bottom. Punishment fer getting' stinkin' drunk.

Lo, he pukes his ever lovin' guts up all down the front of me shirt. Soundlessly, without so much as a second's warning. I do think about leavin' him, but he's got a hold of me hair, as tightly as a newborn babe with a bottle. "Sorry." He manages, weak as a babe, too, stumblin' with every step.

"'e feel hot to ye too, cap'n?" Gibbs asks.

Aye. He did. Not drunk then. "Great." I ignore the warm vomit leaking through my shirt, ignore the stares I'm getting, and hug the young Mr. Turner tighter so that he may walk. "With my luck, he's got the bloody Black Plague."

&&&&&&&&

It was a strange sight, the lady at the embattlements. True, there were times when the gentry headed out to the fort, in order to hold celebrations or executions (both being highly entertaining all the way around) but there was nothing scheduled for that day. Nothing that should bring a young lass such as Governor Swann's daughter out to the stone walls.

She would sit on the wall, unladylike to the last. Her legs crossed underneath her, her hands draped across her lap. She watched the sea, the waves that crashed against the coastline, unforgiving by their very nature. If she knew which direction, she would not be there. If she had had any idea where Will might have been, what might have happened to him, she would not be sitting idly by. Her father, what did he know? He seemed unsurprised the day that Will failed to turn up for their evening supper. Oh, true, he offered her his condolences, but really, Elizabeth, what had you expected from a rogue such as this? The lad was born a pirate, what makes you think that anything you say or do would change him?

Actually, she would have gone with him. Governor Swann had been quite distressed to learn that. All he had needed to do was ask, and Elizabeth would have followed Will from Port Royal to the shores of Madagascar and all the ports in between. "Perhaps it's for the best, then." Swann would say, patting her on the shoulder, tsk tsking when she glared at him.

Elizabeth Swann became a bit of a legend around the town of Port Royal. She shouldn't be surprised to learn that those who came to live there long after would speculate about what happened to that young woman. Perhaps she died of a broken heart, and her ghost still walks the walls of the fort. She might have thrown herself into the sea, figuring that if Will Turner wouldn't take her, no one would.

She sits, now, in the hut of an old woman. She knows not what to expect, only that it is a fairly slim chance that she might learn a clue as to where her dear Will has gone. A fortune teller, people say, gifted with the sight of what will be, what is, and what was. It cost her a pretty penny for this honour, and she intends not to waste it.

The old woman has a face like a piece of the _Black Pearl_'s hull. Wizened and weatherworn, the paths that she had taken in her life marked out for all to see on her ebony skin. She shuffles the cards of the Tarot, asking Elizabeth innocuous questions. The young lady answers hesitantly.

"There be a young man in yer life, chile?" The woman turns over a card. Elizabeth has no idea what they mean, and she tries not to dwell on the pictures or the words. All that matters is the information. "He might work wiff his hands?"

"He's a blacksmith." Elizabeth finds herself saying. "He disappeared."

"Ah, yes." The old woman shuffles the hand again. "Gone, but… Oh, not of his own free will."

Elizabeth pulls her knees up tighter against her chest. It's night, the ocean air is cold, and the single candle flickering in the woman's hut is not nearly enough to keep her warm. It does, however, bathe the table in the warm light. Beyond that, Elizabeth can make out the hanging carcasses of small birds, and smell the unique combination of spices that the old woman is burning. They're on the floor in the middle of the hut, the table not so much a table but a raised piece of wood a few inches from the dirt. "Where is he?"

"That's hazy." The woman lays her cards again. Turning them over with slow deliberation. "I see darkness, chile. The colour black. It's all around him."

Elizabeth leans forward. Oh, she wants more than that, black could mean so many things. It might even mean the temper that her father will be in, when she comes home. He dismissed this as nothing more than the local voodoo, stories intended to frighten the young children who had come over from London. He thought that those who listened to the local fortune tellers ought to spend more time in church, particularly in the confessional. This was a sin, sure as any of those that Captain Jack Sparrow had ever committed.

The cards fall in the way that they were meant to, and the story that the old woman tells Elizabeth is nothing if not disheartening. Her dearest love is fighting off illness, he may in fact be dead. But it doesn't answer her question. Let her marry a gravestone, if that is the case, she just wanted to find him. To bring him home again, to Port Royal.

If the answer doesn't lie there, the old woman coaxes the strings of Elizabeth's purse open with it, perhaps there may be something in the lines of Elizabeth's hands. She holds them up for inspection, and lets the old woman hmm and haw over them. Lifelines, yes. A good and lengthy one for Elizabeth. Look at this, it appears she will marry, and be prosperous. "I'm not here for MY fortune." She insists. "A direction, old woman. Send me north, send me south. Give me a place to go."

The old woman looks her in the eye, and with a slow smile says to her, "You already know the way, chile. It's the way how you came to be here."

Elizabeth considers this. Closing her palms over her lifelines, empty of all the coin she had brought with her—so if the old woman wants more money, she can nigh on well forget it—she ponders what that could mean. It's a short ponder, because all the while, she thinks about what has tied she and Will together from the moment that they met. Their journeys had been shockingly similar, from the very moment that she spotted him in the water on the crossing from England. Just a boy, adrift in the wake of the _Black Pearl_.

Their common denominator.

There are two cards, she turns at Elizabeth's urging. Elizabeth looks at them, and asks, "what of these?"

"The ace of pentacles, and the ace of swords." The old woman smiles. "New luck, new challenges."

"That's all they mean?" Elizabeth asks.

"Nay, lass. Winter and spring. North and east."

North and east

She smiles at this. All this money, and the answer was obvious. Difficult, for she would need to find her way out of Port Royal and onto the open sea, but obvious, nonetheless. All the thinking she had been doing, of their time on the _Pearl_, that was the place where she should be going for her answers. "Thank you."

&&&&&&&&

The regrettable aspect of such an isolated town as Port Royal was the tendency of the denizens to talk. Not just talk, of course, but gossip, of things be they true or not. It mattered little to the ancient tongues in their powdered wigs how factual the statements they made were. What they wanted was a good juicy rumour to share with their like-minded guests over a spot of high tea. Never to be out-done, they would change events or facts, just to give the story that extra little zing that made their telling the one to be embellished at the next party.

They did not have the name Bootstrap Bill to bandy about, but word of Will Turner's unfortunate lineage had reached their ears. A pirate, they'd whisper as he walked by, lifting their eyes from their confederates just long enough to catch a glimpse of the man in question. Or, a pirate's get, at very least. A bastard, maybe? Oh, his mother would never have lain with a pirate willingly. Dear Will, he couldn't help his lust for Governor Swann's daughter. It was in his blood.

The lad did nothing to quash those rumours. When he went about town, he no longer wore the drab homespun, or the dark colours. No, when he went out, he was a splash of vibrant red or cheery yellow. He kept a jaunty gait, his chin up so that the plume bounced about behind him. The young ladies peeked at him over their fans, to hide their smiles when he winked. Their scandalized mothers would tug them away, admonishing them for their interest. But that made the young Turner all the more desirable, for a man who was talked about was one who piqued the curiosity of foolish young girls with romance in their hearts. To prohibit their contact with him only made them want it more.

But the path he followed every day took him from the modest home to the home of the governor. Swann did not raise a voice about the propriety, in fact, he said nothing. That started rumours in and of itself. Maybe the governor wasn't aware of the affair. And what about that Commodore Norrington? There couldn't have been a finer officer in the fleet, surely Governor Swann would have preferred him as a son-in-law.

Some part of Will was horrified. The part that stood back, still clasping to his life as the blacksmith's apprentice, as the man who drifted through days without being noticed. The town of Port Royal has gone years without talking about the boy who had been found in the waves. When he had been a child, the backlash had been limited to speculation of his origin; however, as he had made a great effort to disappear, they allowed it.

There have always been ways to do things. Proper ways. Will Turner was just becoming acquainted with that very fact. Well, no, that was not true. As a blacksmith, he knew, that you had to follow a certain sequence of steps, a proper list of procedures, and of course, meet a certain set of specifications. Your very reputation was on the line, should you turn out a blade not nearly as perfect as it should be. He just never once thought that the rules that bound a simple menial labourer would ever, ever, ever apply to someone of a higher stature.

It was not the goods that they produced that the world judged these people by, no. It was themselves. It was why young William Turner was standing on what the tailor referred to as a shoe—at least, that was what he thought it was called—so that the man might measure and grope and cinch to his little heart's content. Governor Swann stood behind him, talking to the tailor about everyday things, like the weather and the prices of commodities, all things to draw attention away from the fact that—by the standards of those who were part of the 'right' society—his soon-to-be son-in-law had the dress sense of a blind mule.

Every once in a while, conversation would drift back to Will. The tailor would, no doubt, seize a great handful of material, and yank it back, nearly throwing Will from the stool he was precariously perched upon. "We could take it in here," would often be the justification for this assault.

"I'd need to remove a shoulder blade for that." Will grumbled, straightening the lay of the coat when the tailor released him.

Swann frowned at him in the mirror. "Need I remind you, Mr. Turner, that these will be the clothes that you wear to your wedding? Your wedding to my daughter, I might add. And while I have always thought of you as a son, I still will not have you show up dressed as a ruffian or a black…" He trailed off.

Will didn't call him on it. On any of it. Being thought of a son? That was well and good to say now, but then-Captain Swann had been more than satisfied to leave the orphan in the tender mercies of the man who was not only the town's only blacksmith, but also the most ridiculed drunkard. As for being a blacksmith, or a ruffian, the former Will would continue to be, and the latter, Governor Swann thought he was playing at. He had no idea about dear old Bootstrap Bill, Will's dearly departed father. William Turner would be forever sanctified as a good man, nothing more, and nothing less. "This is the latest fashion in London?" He asked, almost recoiling when the tailor stuck his hands between Will's legs, in the guise of measuring the inseam. He glared, but the tailor continued on without even looking up.

"Do not mock me, boy." Swann warned in a low voice. "I do this as a favour to Elizabeth, I will not tolerate your mouth."

The tailor wrapped his measuring tape around Will's chest. "No corsets, please." He managed a straight face as he said it.

"Mr. Turner…" Well, he had known it would come. Governor Swann came up beside him, doing he utmost best to look threatening and intimidating. "Your past acquaintances may have taught you otherwise, but I will tell you now that it is not proper, in any echelon of society, for a young man to concern himself with a lady's undergarments, be she his wife or no."

The man obviously had never been to Tortuga. A young man was expected to concern himself with those, particularly if the lass were not his wife. A lesson Will had learned the hard way. "Noted." Will held out his arms when told to do so, trying desperately to be serious. "I'm curious then, sir, if we are not to speak of London, or your daughter, as she is the only lady I would concern myself over, what am I to do with conversation? I'm certain your friends would not wish to hear about the life of a blacksmith. How dreadfully boring that must be, slaving away day in and day out in order to make a living. However, that is all I know, save for my adventures with…"

Governor Swann cut in, before the groom-to-be made a comment that would utterly ruin his stance in society, even if were only a remark in the presence of the tailor. It was reflections, you see. These people were nothing but a bunch of mirrors. "I think there has been quite enough speculation about this town as to exactly what sort of adventures you were getting into, Mr. Turner. You may discuss London, whatever knowledge you have of it, and you may discuss my daughter, though you will strictly withhold any knowledge you have of her, particularly regarding her undergarments. As for the life of a blacksmith, I think you may as well discuss it with our friends, for they know as well as you what a hard day's work is." He slapped Will's hand away from the tail of his coat, and straightened it with one downward jerk. "Commodore Norrington did not have the world laid out before him, lad. He worked his way up to where he came to be."

"Ah, yes." Will continued to look at his reflection in the mirror. "Commodore Norrington. I was wondering when you would bring him up."

"Do not speak his name with such disdain." The governor straightened his back, clasping his hands behind it. "That man saved your life."

Not exactly how Will remembered the events of that battle. Dear Commodore Norrington would be making some fish fat if it hadn't been for Will and Jack Sparrow—not that there was a person other than Elizabeth who would know that. Even she was shushed when she tried to talk about the great fun they had had with the pirates. Yes, fun. Again, Will would love to differ on that. He found nothing particularly amusing about being held over a box of golden coins, with a blade at his throat. "Yes. Of course. How stupid of me to forget." Will turned when he was told to, facing the governor. "If you're so against this marriage, Governor, why didn't you let me dance with Jack Ketch?" He purposely used the pirate's phrase for that, a phrase he wasn't certain the good governor would understand.

A high colour blossomed on the governor's cheeks. "Thank you, Mr. Grieves, you'll send the clothing here when it is complete." He ground out. The little tailor knew when to beat a hasty retreat, gathering up his supplies and bolting like he'd been struck by lightening. Will was practically whipped out of the clothes.

Once he'd changed, Will had every intention of leaving as well. Much to his surprise, the governor had poured two brandy snifters, and was waiting with them in hand. "I think it's high time the two of us had a talk, Mr. Turner." He held out the snifter to Will. He accepted it, but he didn't drink. The governor, though, took a long draught, then settled himself into one of the uncomfortable parlour chairs. Will remained standing, even though Swann gestured for him to sit as well. " 'Dance with Jack Ketch.' You really think that I could have let you hang, Will, even if you did break loose that despicable pirate?"

"Good man." Will countered, crossing his arms. "Dress it up as you like, Governor, the only reason Elizabeth and I are alive today to contemplate vows is Captain Jack Sparrow."

"We're not speaking of Sparrow," Swann spat the name. "We're speaking of you." He set the snifter on the table with a decisive clink. "I'm neither blind nor stupid, Will, I know that you and I have something in common. We both love Elizabeth, and want what's best for her. Heaven help me, she thinks that you. My daughter was infatuated with you from the moment the two of you met. You can understand that, for a father, that's a terrible thing. My little girl, falling for a mysterious boy without a past." He gave a rueful chuckle. "Do you see how easy it would have been for me? All I had to do was tell the commodore I wanted the fullest extent of the law brought down upon you, and you and your pirate friend would be dangling off the coast, as a warning for any more pirates. But, I also know what that would have done to Elizabeth." He raised his glass to Will, not noticing the pallor that had stolen over Will's face. His blood was running in cold streams through his veins. "You're alive because of my daughter's love for you. Someday, though, I think you will no longer be part of her life. Someday, I think you will leave. I hope it is sooner than later, Mr. Turner."

"Never." Will hissed, barely able to form the words. "You are wrong, Governor."

Swann shook his head, the smile on his face strangely sympathetic. "You may think me a fool, Mr. Turner, but I'm not. I've seen my share of this world, even if you think I haven't. You're the sort who would marry the pretty girl, leave her with a child, and return to a life of grand adventure. Where does that leave my daughter? Married to the memory of the man who left her." He got up, and crossed the room, heading for a roll-top desk. Sorting through a stack of papers, he came up with a document, trading Will his brandy for it.

Will's hands were shaking when he took it. His eyes scanned the words on the page, words the he read but that did not register. He looked up at the governor in shock.

Swann nodded. "It's a letter of Marque. I'll give you enough money to purchase yourself a fine ship, if you'll take it and leave." He waved at the open window, to the ocean that crashed against the shore, and the palm trees waving between them and it. "Go and be a pirate, lad, just leave my daughter out of it."

"Privateer." Will corrected absently. "A privateer, governor. You'd pay me to leave Elizabeth." He turned the page over in awe, almost. Held it up so that the governor could see it. And neatly tore it in half. "I think you forget the reason that I partook of my adventure, Governor. Would I have left Port Royal, would I have taken up with the unsavoury characters that I did, if Elizabeth were safe at home? Nay. You forget that I love your daughter, as well, Governor. Money, a ship, what use are they to me?"

Governor Swann looked him over coolly. "You think I offered this to you as a request?"

"You think that I would take it as a command?" Will countered. "Thank you, governor, for proving how little you think of me _before_ I married your daughter." He threw the pieces of the letter onto the floor at his feet, pivoting on his heel.

"Ah, lad, hold up." Swann called after him. Will hesitated, slowed, and finally paused with his hand on the door. "You are right, I apologize. You will forgive a father his concern for his daughter?" Will didn't want to turn, but he did. He had to. Swann was smiling again. "Come, stay. Elizabeth should be home soon."

How open and jovial he suddenly was. Will inclined his head. "As you wish, sir."

&&&&&&&

He's taken to me bed, feverish and dull-witted. The ship's surgeon is concerned, and I'm using that term loosely, too. Bathe his forehead, keep him cool during the hot spells, and warm during the chills. Chances were, me and Mr. Gibbs were comin' down with it as we speak.

The doctor is doing something, listenin' to Will's breathin'. Sounds funny to me ears, but I'm not no surgeon. He makes 'hmm' sounds, and it's drivin' me up the blessed walls. Finally, he tears off the whelp's shirt, and lo and behold, there's a scar. A bright red, poorly healed, most definitely infected scar.

"Holy mother of God." Gibbs crosses himself. I had no idea he was religious. Or perhaps he isn't, because I found meself about to address the Almighty, until I remembered that He and I are not on speaking terms. No, I sit there like a bump on a log, looking at that wound on Will's chest. A knife wound—I'm well versed in wounds of all sorts. Gunshots, knives, whips, you name it, I've got it. The doctor starts talking about miracles, that Will survived so long, but ye know, I can't help but think that the bigger miracle would be if the lad gets up out of that bed again. No longer me bunk, no, it's the place where I'll be settin' up a deathwatch shortly.

The doctor's speaking to Will. The lad's awake, if not coherent. Bathed in sweat again. "I know, lad. I know it hurts." The doctor soothes. He draws a knife, and hovers over the boy's chest. "Captain, would you be so kind to pour me some whiskey."

"All the same to you, mate, I prefer you butcher the lad sober." I counter.

That earns me a glare. "For the boy, Captain, not me."

"Ah." I toss him a bit of a salute, and get up, findin' me finest. The doctor gestures that I'm supposed to try to get our patient to take a drink of it. Will chokes on it as he tries to swallow, bubbling it up over his chin. "Drink up, me hearty." I say.

Forgive me, I don't stay when they cut the wound open again. The scream from outside the quarters are more than enough for me. I have other things to deal with for now, a crew to get underway. Ana Maria, bless her, she looks questioningly at the cabin, wondering. I say nothing, reveal nothing to her. I bark orders, "weigh anchor, bring me that horizon!"

I'm interested in revenge. Oh, let's not dally about that. Will Turner deserves only what I dish out to him, anything else sets me blood a-boil. Annoying, persistent, and let's not forget that he's 'bout the biggest Pollyanna I've ever met, there were times I had considered puttin' a round in the lad's head. Not as many times as I had considered putting it in his lady's head—Miss Swann having committed the unforgivable sin of burning the ENTIRE cache of rum—but there were times in our period of acquaintance when, if I hadn't needed him so damned badly for my own purposes, he would have been sleeping it off in Davy Jones' Locker. But he managed to worm his way into me good graces, like a barnacle upon the hull. Woulda killed me if Barbossa had killed the whelp.

Whoever laid his hands upon the body of me mate did so a goodly time ago. Nothing festers a wound like that save time. Poor blighter had been sufferin' from that infliction for… I don't know. I don't know who did it, I don't know how long he's been like that, hell, I don't know if he's going to survive. If he doesn't, that solves problems for me. They thought Captain Jack Sparrow was the scourge of the seven seas before, there'll be hell to pay these days if Will Turner dies. I'll start at Port Royal and burn me a path until I find who did it. Not even Norrington with his hoity-toity attitude and powdered wig would stand in me way. I'd slit his neck, toss his weasly guts to the seagulls. And those of anyone else who gets in me way.

When the doctor comes to find me, he looks exhausted. "It's in God's hands." He tells me.

Damn and blast.

&&&&&&&&

"Were you afraid, Elizabeth? When you were alone on the _Black Pearl_?"

That had been a time they never talked about. They didn't compare battle scars, they didn't discuss the island that she had been marooned on, nothing of the sort. He noticed that the cut on her hand hadn't scarred, while his had. A reminder, he had supposed, that he had been this close to being dead. To being her death.

The sea, it was in his blood. Elizabeth, she had noticed it. Standing in her room, his back to her bed, staring out the windows to the ocean as it crashed against the cliff-face, he had lost himself in a memory of being, well, not here. Out there, among the waves, just him and Jack Sparrow on a commandeered ship, sailing into Tortuga, in order to gather a crew as mad as they both were. When she had answered his question, it hadn't been with words, it had been with a sound kiss, and a pair of arms around his neck, holding him tightly against her.

He made a fist over his collarbone, wishing her hands were there, holding him tightly as he clenched his hands now. Tightly enough that the moon-shaped crescents in his palms were already leaking red blood. If he could sleep now, perhaps, it would be a different story. If he could only close his eyes, and not see Elizabeth's face, not feel her skin against his, not smell the scent of her hair. Roses and woman, and something… Was there always something about women that men just couldn't place?

It was an aroma he wished for, longed for again. The odour that permeated the boards smell of the bilge water sloshing back and forth with every wave. It wasn't the smell of brine he objected to—that, he found to be a clean scent. It was the rotting odour of the few rats that had been unlucky enough to get caught in that last squall that had passed through. Their lifeless bodies batted up against the sides of the hull, thunk-thunking, like the beat of a heart.

There was no light. None whatsoever. No oil-lamps, no torches, not even a beam of sunlight. His head swam so horribly he welcomed the darkness. Whatever and whoever hit him had done so quite efficiently. Nothing like the blow he had received while Port Royal was under the attack of the crew of the cursed _Black Pearl_. This one came with a few friends, including a quick meet-up with the ground. It hurt something fierce.

He envied Jack his plunge from the embattlements. Will had been half-tempted to follow, and perhaps it was that bit of temptation that led to this. A punishment, if you will. He had not been unfaithful to Elizabeth. No buxom wench, no lady of the night could pull his attention away from the darling girl that had stolen his heart when she found him amidst the waves all those years ago. She truly was the woman he loved. But the half of him that resembled Bootstrap Bill, the half that was content on the waves, up amongst the rigging, running the ratlines, that was the half that led to this, he was certain.

"You need to get yerself a girl, mate." When Jack had said that, he hadn't meant for Will to develop affection for two at once—Elizabeth Swann, and the sea.

The hatch was thrown open, sending streams of sunlight down into the hold. Will winced and turned away, squeezing his eyes shut. He still couldn't block out the sounds of two pairs of bots as they thumped down the stairs to the heap they had dumped Will in days before. They left him shackled there, no food, no water, nothing. It was the first time he had seen the men who had pulled him from the street in Port Royal.

What little of them he did see. With the light at their backs, he couldn't make heads from tails. They dragged him upright, even though his legs would not support him, and thrust a sack over his head. It was made from burlap, and where it touched his skin, it itched something fierce. That was not as bad as the bits that came loose from the bag, and slipped down his throat and into his nose with every breath.

They were deathly silent as they hauled him up, and across a ways. He could feel the heat of the sun upon him, but, tragically, it was gone again in short order. Back into darkness, down into what would become his hell. For the short time he was on the _Black Pearl_, he learned exactly what it was about her that made Jack love her so much. Sitting in her brig, she had been his companion, the gentle hand that allowed him to sleep, even knowing full-well what might be lying ahead for him.

He had no idea what would happen to him when the men marching him pulled him to a stop, and whipped the bag from his head. Even the light from the lamp was dazzlingly bright, as far as his poor eyes were concerned. Will clenched them shut, opening them terribly slowly. In the mean time, they tossed him to his knees, landing him hard on the deck of a ship.

"Well, matey, did ye have a good sleep?"

When Will didn't answer immediately, the behemoth to his right cuffed him a good one on the side of the head. Stunned him, to say the very least. Trying to work some saliva back into his mouth, Will realized with a start that he should be afraid. Not only that he should be afraid, but that he actually _was_.

A pair of scuffed boots stood before him. He noticed that, he supposed, because he would never have gone out of the smithy with his clothes looking like that. Even Captain Jack Sparrow had certain quirks about his appearance, and while they might not be anything that Governor Swann and his ilk would consider acceptable for their refined presence, things like his boots and his hat were to be kept in somewhat decent shape.

Looking up, he realized that the tree trunks that were sprouting from the boots were, in fact, legs. Big hulking legs attached rather intimately to a bug, hulking torso. The man was wearing silks, none of which, on their own, would have covered him adequately. He wasn't fat, oh, no, if he had been fat, Will might have found him more ridiculous than threatening. No, naturally, with Will's famous luck, this man was all muscle.

And unlike his two comrades, it wasn't all entirely between his ears.

"I be expectin' an answer, matey. Didja sleep well?"

Will nodded. "A-aye." He managed to stammer.

The man traded looks with the two beside Will, and that was another valuable lesson learned at the end of a roundhouse. When Will was righted by the men, the giant knelt before him, clasping his chin with a big, meaty fist. "Ye're eyes tell me ye slept nary a wink. Don't be lyin' ta me, Turner, ye know I don't like it."

"Turn…" Will sputtered, pulling free. "You… You know my name?"

Another blow, and maybe, Will added to his list of rules, it was best to keep his mouth shut until they asked him a question directly. One thing was for certain, they could only do this for a while longer. The man was right, Will hadn't slept, even in the dark. He was hungry, he was thirsty, and he was ever so cold. Perhaps they could bat him around like a cat with a toy for a bit longer, but, eventually, he was going to run out of strength. Mental, physical, spiritual, they would all just stop, and on would come the blessed night. Come to think of it, as he knelt on the wooden deck, desperately trying to gather his wits about him again, he would have rather welcomed it.

One moment walking down the street having spent an evening with Elizabeth and unfortunately her father, the next, set upon by a gang of thugs. Port Royal was not a safe town, by any means, but even so, such attempts were few and far between. Unlike Tortuga, Port Royal at least had the image of being a quiet place, even if under the surface, she clamoured and roiled like any other pirate haven.

"And ye'll sit here and pretend that ye don' know mine." The man tipped his head to the side, as though he were truly inquisitive. "Very well, Mr. Turner, I'll be introducin' meself again. I'm John Beathard. Ye remember me bitty ship? The crew ye royally screwed over, Mr. Turner, do ye?" He seized a great handful of Will's shirt, hauling him up so that they were face-to-face. Will could smell rotting meat on the pirate's breath, as the hot air blasted over him. "A treasure trove unlike any other, ye said, a thousand pieces of gold for every man, and more besides. What did we get, Mr. Turner?"

"I haven't the faintest." Will said in a small voice. Gads, he had no idea what the man was talking about, even if he had his name right. Beathard had to be out of his mind, and even then, this was a dangerous place to be. More so than before, if anything.

With a great shake, Beathard threw Will back into the waiting arms of his two men. "Take Mr. Turner below. Find out if there actually be a treasure for us to plunder. If'n there isn't, ye be tossin' him over the side. I'm sure there's a shark or three that'll be more than happy to feast upon yer black guts." He punctuated that with a blow to those very 'black' guts he had just been threatening.

&&&&&&&&

That very night, she moves. Her long hair, she stands before her mirror and cuts. Not too short, no, about the length that Will keeps his. She draws it back in a ponytail, and tucks it under a scarf. She is a beautiful woman, she does not know very well how to conceal it. She had gone to Will's quarters, at the smithy, looked through his clothing. The shirts are big enough to hide the swell of her breasts. The breeches, she knows that they should fit tighter, but without the skill of a good tailor, they will have to do.

Her final touch, though, is a rolled up handkerchief. A bit embarrassing, particularly since she had had to cinch the breeches with twine, but a necessary detail that, should she brush up against someone, or become the object of close scrutiny…

Oh, she knows full-well what she looks like. Elizabeth Swann has to disappear for now, and in her place, young Charlie Turner is born. She likes to think that these will be adventures that she can pass on to her son, when she and Will marry. His father will be terribly embarrassed, but young Charles will learn that there is more to life than propriety and the trappings of a high life. This Charlie, though, this Charlie is a street urchin, one of the many that are supposed to no longer exist in Port Royal.

You think it would be easy to find a pirate's ship in Port Royal. Theoretically, it is. Most of the men who pull into dock are scallywags and buccaneers. None of them are as flamboyant as the dear Captain Jack Sparrow was, so many of them do not get caught. They perform their business and leave again, with the port officials none the wiser. Still, one has to know something about pirates in order to sign on with the crew.

Elizabeth goes down to the harbour, with nary a plan on her mind. Oh, there's some smattering of one, but that all depends on who is sitting in the dock. She has discarded her footwear some time ago, finding it easier to walk barefoot. She even rent the cuffs of Will's pants, so that they hung well above her ankles. She feels as though every eye is on her, and that they are able to peer through her clothing, and see that she is not a boy at all, but a woman who is very much afraid.

She finds someone in one of the taverns. An old seadog, from the look of him, his feet up on the table, and a bottle of rum clutched in his hand. It takes but a word to get him talking about his grand adventures. And does he have a lot of them. She keeps buying him drinks, and he keeps telling her of the times he went head to head with the British Navy, and lived to walk away from it. About the time that he double crossed a weasly double-crosser, and slit his guts as a warning to everyone else.

He was the first mate aboard a ship. A ship more than willing to take her out of Port Royal.

&&&&&&&&

Poor boy's delusional. I prop me fist up under me chin, and stare down at the lad. He's tossing and turning something fierce, fighting off a foe I cannot see. The doctor found more bruises on him, the legacy of a beating or ten that will stick with him for a time to come.

They've got something spread on the wound, a nasty thick glop that smells like somethin' ye scrape from yer shoes. The surgeon tells me it's some old woman's voodoo, and when I tease him about it, he shrugs, and says that if it works, it works. I like that about me crew, always lookin' for more than what's conventional.

Fightin' the undead and battlin' off a curse will do that to, oh, everyone.

Couldn't keep the lad's presence a secret for long. Dear Ana Maria, I'm beginnin' to wonder if she's bein' unfaithful to me, tarrying where she ought not. As many times as I tell her that the young Mr. Turner is far from the usually gentry she courts, she still slaps me and tries to take a shift at his bed side. Don' ask me why, I have nary a clue. Women.

We've been days at this. Every time we think his fever's broken, it flares again. Many times, I've considered getting me pistol, and putting the youth out of his misery, but the doctor figgers that if we can keep him cool, and let his body fight this, he'll be fine. At least, that's what I want him to say.

He checks Will's breathin' again. Smiles at me. "He's doing better." Straightening up, the surgeon rearranges the blankets over Will's prone form. "Wish there were more that I could do for him. When he was stabbed, he lost a lot of blood."

I look up at the man. "Tha's why no leeches?"

The doctor raises his eyebrows. "Leeches? No. I wouldn't take more blood from him. I wish that there were a way of putting some more into him." With a shrug, he steps back. "I'll be honest with you, Captain, I'm surprised that he's lasted this long. He's a fighter."

Captain Jack Sparrow does not get all soppy. But if he did, just once, indulge, he'd think to himself, that this lad had proven it over and over again. But Sparrow would never, never indulge. In booze, in women, but never in that. Nay, not the man who raised a glass to a skeleton in toast. "I may let you live, Doc."

He smiles. You didn't throw away a gem like that, a real doctor. He wasn't a carpenter or a cook, but an honest to god surgeon. Nay, he knew his life was practically guaranteed. "I'll be back soon. Call me if anything changes."

Will stirs, and something comes from his lips. "Meurte." I don't think I'm hearing right. Or, mayhap, the lad still dreams of the place. I do. Not that it bothers me, I've seen me fair share of worse things, but the undead would bother the sleep of a common blacksmith. Wonder if Elizabeth is the one he wakes up to…

That was when I realized he was looking at me. Breathin' hard, painfully, but lookin' at me with recognition in his eyes. I don't get in a panic about it, for it could be merely part of the dream to him. But, then, he closes his eyes, and winces. "Jack?" He asks.

"Ahoy, matey." I catch his hand as he reaches for the wound. "Wouldn' be doin' that. Right nasty mess, that was."

He nods, slowly. "Hurts like a bastard."

"I'd imagine so." I laugh. He doesn't appreciate it when I cannot stop.

To Be Continued…

&&&&&&&&

A/N: Wow! It's been a long time since I've published fan fiction. This place looks way different from the last time I saw it! So, this is my first "Pirates of the Caribbean" fan fiction. I've been told I'm out of my mind to keep jumping around with the POVs, not to mention the tenses. So, love it, hate it? I'd love to hear what you think.


	2. Port In The Storm

**Disclaimer:** See first chapter.

**Warnings:** Mention of potential non-con. It DOES NOT happen. I've grown out of that phase. Anyway, language and violence (not-terribly descriptive torture and a not-so-battle scene). Misuse of sailing terms, I'm sure. Irony (rather blatant, actually). Innuendo.

&&&&&&&&

CHAPTER TWO—Port In The Storm

_He'd lost his shoes. Will couldn't help but notice that his feet were bare, and cold as the rest of him. A strange thing to be concerned over, to say the very least. The men, they'd left for a little while, but they'd be back. They promised they would, and when they came, they had laid out exactly what they would do to him. It was a crying shame that he had no idea what they wanted from him, seeing as it was his fingers and toes that would be sacrificed next._

_The world has a strange, unreal feel to it. Much like his time in the brig on the _Pearl_. A sense of fantasy, that what was happening couldn't really be happening, because things like this were what mothers told their children to frighten them to bed early. His hands were starting to swell in their bindings, the lack of blood flow to his hands making them sting. Flexing his fingers is what's keeping him awake._

_They'd come this time, with a whip. Laid open the skin of his back, under the decks, so no one could see him. They taunted him, though, to scream. Let the world know how yer sufferin', mate, because they were having a hard time keeping the men away from the brig. Will had all but wept with frustration and pain, his mind desperately churning to figure out who these men were and why they wanted to hurt him so badly. He didn't remember them._

_"Up on yer feet."_

_He startled, not sure when he had drifted off. He was loathe to call it sleep, because he felt just as tired now as he did before. Just as frightened by the hulking figures standing on the other side of the iron bars. When he wasn't quite fast enough, they grabbed his hair, and hauled him upright._

_There were two that he dealt with on a regular basis: Mean and meaner. He still preferred to be beaten by the one without a tongue, he seemed to pull his punches just a tad. If he had put the full force of his weight behind it, he would have flattened Will's head. The other, he seemed more interested in prolonging the pain. It had been his idea to fetch seawater to pour over Will's open wounds, as it was his idea to move Will through the ship by the roots of his hair._

_"Wouldn' mind turnin' this'n over a barrel." The man hauled Will up higher, so that Will's ear was level with the man's mouth. "Shame we's been markin' up that pretty flesh o' yours, boy. 'magine it's soft as a lass's, eh?"_

_Will licked his parched lips, wishing desperately for something to drink. All they'd offered him was seawater, never a great choice, unless you wanted to go mad with thirst. "You'd lose that bet."_

_"Haul ye up on the deck, and let everyone have a turn." The man continued as though Will hadn't spoken at all. "What say, Turner, ye're a strong buck. Ye could take it."_

_There were things William Turner could joke about. This was not one of them. He struggled as best he could, flailing with his bound hands at the man's face. They connected with a sickening crack, and in that instant, he let go of Will. The freedom, though, was short lived, as the man's partner reached out with a solid fist, and dropped Will to the deck in a stunned heap._

_The pirate wiped the blood from his nose, glaring down at Will. The boy barely managed to get his hands beneath him, when he was being hauled up again. "Stupid, Turner. Stupid."_

_"I'd rather die than submit to… to that." He managed to stammer._

_The man smiled at Will, "Oh, that can be arranged." He shoved Will into a small cabin, more of a nook, really. There was nothing in the room, save a table and a huge basin full of muddy water. "But first, we're gonna clean ye up. Ye smell like the bilge, matey."_

_The mute stepped forward with a length of chain in his hands. Will opened his mouth to ask what in that was for, but he never got the chance. With a laugh, they looped it round his throat, and shoved his head into the basin._

He could still feel it, in his mouth, his nose, burning down his throat. The elbow in the centre of his back, holding him down when his thrashing became—no. He was not going to think of it.

"Where are you, lad?"

Will looked up. Mr. Gibbs was taking his shift, relieving Jack Sparrow of the burden. It seemed superfluous; Will felt better than any man who had been stabbed had the right to feel. But even mentioning it sent Jack into what could only be described as an explosion. The man had no concept of range of hearing, and even so, it was a sound bet that the people of England would have been clapping their hands over their ears. "Come again." He had heard… He just didn't understand. No, not even that. Didn't want to.

Gibbs looked over, then turned another page of the book he was reading. Held it up when Will craned his neck, so that he could see that it was the Bible. "Ye were driftin'. Somewhere, not here."

"You know, for a pirate, you're quite poetic." Will countered, tugging the blanket up under his chin. He knew that he was in Jack's quarters, even though he had never set foot in them. He'd recognise the _Pearl_ anywhere, the way the hull rolled with the waves, the creaks of her boards, the sound of the sails filling with wind. They were all special, they were all her. "I was here. Where else would I be?"

Gibbs closed the Bible with a decided thump, setting it down in his lap. "I'm not interrogatin' ye, lad."

A strange choice of words. Will wiggled down a bit farther under the sheets. He wished he could pull them up over his head, and make the last few days not happen. Days, weeks, whatever it had been. However long he had been at the mercy of Captain Beathard and his crew. "It was nothing."

There was a long, pregnant silence. Will didn't dare look at him, keeping his eyes on the bare planks of the wall. When he lost interest in that, he let himself look around, at the artefacts that Jack Sparrow had collected. He had expected gold and silver, but the pirate had surprised him. No swag, not the kind that you'd expect. No, he decorated with wooden masks, and statues. There was a chart on one wall. Plain, simple, austere. Everything Jack Sparrow was not.

In his inattention, he missed Gibbs move. The pirate didn't touch him, just came near him. Will flinched away, seeing a meaty fist coming at his face, even though, on retrospect, the movement was little more than a nudge of the elbow. "Reaction, lad." Gibbs said knowingly at Will's accusing glare. "Nothing ye say?" He leaned forward. "Ye almost died, yanno."

Will touched his chest. Not something he'd like forget any time soon. The thrust of the knife into his chest, crunching against his collarbone, sending a spike of pain through his body. Enough to make him cry out, and it had been a long time since he had done that. He remembered fairly little from that point on, save the pain. "I was supposed to die." They had left him in that tavern for dead. It would have been a grand joke, that he had drank himself to death. A true legend among the pirates.

Gibbs made his comment a trifle more slowly. As though he's considering it, this time. "Almost left ye for drunk, there, we did. Good thing yer lass's reputation for makin' scoundrels and scallywags pay is well-earned, else ye would be another dead sailor in a tavern." He patted Will's arm, another contact that made Will want to jump out of his skin. He managed a tight smile when the pirate gave him a concerned look. "I best be tellin' the cap'n that ye're awake again. 'e wants to discuss some things with you."

"Like when in bloody hell will I be getting me bed back?" Jack demanded, later. Sitting where Gibbs had sat, his elbows rested on his knees, his hands dangling between his legs. "I've been sleepin' on a bloody hammock, I've got rope marks all up and down me back. I'm getting too old fer this nonsense, lad. Ye've been goldbrickin' long enough."

When Will tried to sit up, Jack pushed him back down, though. Had everything to do with the way the younger man's face went absolutely white at the change in altitude. With all the care and attention of a mother hen, Jack fluffed the pillows so that Will was at an angle, able to see without craning too much. "Not in so big a hurry you have to kill yerself." Jack assured him. "Gave us quite a scare, mate. Well, not me. I knew ye were gonna live, but ole Gibbs, he weren't too sure."

Gibbs had reported it in the other direction, but Will hadn't the strength to split such a fine hair. He nodded wearily. "You were the only one, then."

"Who were they, Will?" Jack asked. "Names, boy. Of the ship, or her crew."

"Captain John Beathard." Will supplied without a second's hesitation. He ran down what he could remember of the ship in his memory, as spotty as it was. Jack listened without a word as Will made rueful comments, such as only ever seeing the ship from the inside. Or, his favourite one: that they had neglected to introduce themselves before they beat him to a bleeding pulp. "He… He knew who I was, Jack." This was said with a faint trace of accusation.

"Don't look at me." Jack held his hands up in surrender. "I've never 'eard of the blaggard."

"No. I expect not." Will closed his eyes, retreating into the depths of the pillow.

"Beathard. 'aven't 'eard too many names like that." Jack stroked his beard, his eyes off in the distance. Pondering. "Wouldn't mind an introduction, though. At the end of me sword, naturally." He glanced at Will. "Ye tired?"

"I can't seem to stay awake." Will confessed. "Even talking is tiring."

"Best let ye rest, then." Jack didn't leave though. Not for a long time. Just as Will's breathing evened out, and he started to doze off, Jack asked, "Wha'd they want from ya, lad?"

"Treasure." Will whispered.

&&&&&&&&

On the open waters of the Caribbean 

Elizabeth tossed her duffel under her bunk, trying her very best not to draw too much attention to herself. So far, she'd tricked an old drunken man into believing that she was a boy, but there was a far cry from pulling the wool over everyone else's eyes. They'd said nothing to her, barely looking at her as she found a place to stow her gear. Mr. Gibbs's admonition that it was bad luck for a woman to be aboard a ship still rang in her ears, even though she knew damned well that she had proved her mettle. Just because he accepted that she could be part of a working crew did not mean that every pirate on the ocean could.

She had left a note for her father. More than Will had left for her, but if the old woman's information were true, he hadn't had the chance to do so. It was carefully worded, so as not to worry the dear Governor Swann, but it gave him the facts: She was gone looking for Will. If the Royal Navy thought nothing of his disappearance, if it was not important enough for them, she would make it her priority. He was, after all, to be her husband.

Father had already tried to convince her to forget Will. Commodore Norrington was still more than willing to be her husband, even if he would always only be the second choice. "All things considered, Elizabeth, shouldn't we be considering that young Mr. Turner might, in fact, be dead?" He couldn't understand why that only strengthened her resolve to find him.

"Hoy, there, boy." A hand clamped down on her shoulder. Elizabeth spun around, her heart leaping to her throat. Her first thought was that she had been found out.

It was the old man, looking a hair more sober than he had been in the tavern. He was frowning at her with a face that only made the expression ridiculous. She had seen it before, on the face of a horrid little pug dog one of her friends had owned. A panting, drooling, bug-eyed little thing. Mr. Watson was trying to be fearsome, but it was coming across as nothing more than absurd. "Guv'na." She nodded.

"What'cha doin' on this ship, boy?" He demanded, giving her a good, sound shake that would have rattled her teeth. "I don' be takin' on no stowaways."

"'d be a rather po' stowaway, gettin' caught 'ready." Elizabeth tried to shake loose, but he wouldn't let her go. "ye 'ired me las night, ya did."

That earned her a glare, but she could see the cogs turning in his head, trying to remember what he had done on that drunken binge. "Well, we're already underway…" He stepped back. "Ye realize what ye be gettin' yerself into, here, lad?"

"Said this ship was 'eadin' inta Tortuga." Elizabeth challenged. There had been quite a bit the old man had revealed in a drunken stupor. Will's Master Brown had been a falling down drunk, one who slept a great deal of the time. It was a rather startling contrast. "Is she or ain't she?"

Watson grabbed her arm, of a sudden, and dragged her bodily from the crew cabins. Elizabeth lowered her head as she was rushed passed startled crewmen, who all craned around to see what kind of bee had gotten into Mr. Watson's bonnet. Up on the deck, she was taken towards the quarterdeck, undoubtedly, to speak to the captain. Not what she had wanted. Ruefully, she thought, that that was the change. Last time she had been on a pirate's ship, she had purposely wanted to speak to Barbossa. At least she had had some semblance of a plan then. Right now?

"Cap'n?" Mr. Watson hauled Elizabeth up the stairs to the quarterdeck. "Cap'n, need ta be speakin' to ye for a second." He threw Elizabeth forward, so that she landed in an undignified heap at a pair of bare feet. "Foun' this in the hold, sed he'd been 'ired to work fer us." That brought a good deal of chuckles from the crew who had assembled to see what was going on.

If Elizabeth needed anymore of a confirmation that this was a pirate ship, she needn't look further than that.

"If ye 'adn't been bleedin' drunk!" Elizabeth snapped over her shoulder, before she dared look at the captain of the vessel. Her heart nearly froze in her chest, for the second time in such a short period.

The woman stared down at her with cold blue eyes. Eyes that had seen many things, Elizabeth was sure. She would have been a handsome woman, save for the scar that cut across her cheek, a wicked, ragged looking thing that could only have been received in a knife fight. Ageless, if Elizabeth had ever seen it. "He's gotcha there, Watson." The woman pirate came closer, glaring down at Elizabeth. "Ye know where ye be, boy?"

Elizabeth pushed herself up off the deck. To her surprise, the pirate woman stood a good half-head shorter than her. Clenching her hands into fists at her side. "I'd 'oped ta be aboard a ship sailin' ta Tortuga."

The woman raised her chin, narrowing her eyes. "Only buccaneers and scallywags sail into Tortuga, boy. What be ye're name?"

"Charlie." Elizabeth wet her lips. "Charlie Turner."

"Well, Mr. Turner." The woman laughed, spreading her hands. "Be ye a scallywag?"

"Aye!" Elizabeth put a trifle too much enthusiasm into that. A red hot flush crawled up her cheeks. Appropriate, she hoped, for a young boy caught in an act of bravado. "Well, nay. Bu' I'm thinkin' of going on the account."

Another bout of laughter erupted form the crew. Elizabeth stood her ground, finding that resolve that allowed her to stand on the deck of the cursed _Black Pearl_, and stare Captain Barbossa's skeleton right in the face. As wrong as that statement was…

The woman pirate slashed her hand through the air. "Aw'right, cut it out." She was still smiling, though. "Well, Mr. Turner, ye say me first mate hired ye to serve aboard the fine ship _Siren's Call_. I wasnae informed of this, but as ye're 'ere…" She nodded to someone, and momentarily, a young man came forth with a Bible. "I need ta be askin' ye, Mr. Turner, are ye literate?"

"I can sign me name." Elizabeth offered. She could probably read far better than this entire crew put together, but that wasn't the issue. Young Charlie Turner wouldn't be able to.

The woman laughed. "All right. Now, Mr. Turner…" She took the Bible from the man, and held it out to Elizabeth. "Lay yer right hand on the Bible…" She waited. "Uh, the other right." Elizabeth switched hands. "Now, Mr. Turner, do you 'ave the courage to stay true in the face of battle, and through all danger, serve the _Siren's Call_, and 'er cap'n, Tanis…" At this, she paused. "That'd be me, lad, through both the thick and the thin?"

Elizabeth nodded. "tha' I do."

"Will ye sign the articles as a free man?" Captain Tanis arched her eyebrows at that. Elizabeth nodded to that. "All righty, then, lad." She thrust the page under Elizabeth's nose. "Sign yer name on the bottom."

She had to make it look like she was having trouble making the letters that formed Charles Turner. Her neat cursive writing that she had honed through years of tutelage would not be advantageous to her particular situation.

That seemed to be enough for Tanis. The captain snatched the articles up, studying the signature. Then, she smiled. "Welcome aboard the _Siren's Call_, Mr. Turner." She nodded to Watson. "See tha' 'e finds his-self some work to do."

Her relief was so great, Elizabeth really didn't care that the first task she was appointed was swabbing the decks.

&&&&&&&&

The island they headed for was not the infamous Isle de Meurte. Jack Sparrow had long ago set it up as his cozy little home away from home (not even under pain of death would he have revealed it's location to Barbossa), a place with a secluded inlet that could be put under fairly heavy guard, when the need arose. This would be the case, now, on the outside chance that anyone had followed them to it. After all, when a ship is to be careened, she is at her most vulnerable.

Jack Sparrow oversaw the hustle and bustle with the ease of a man used to command. He said nothing of the fact that Will Turner was sitting still on the beach, wrapped up in a blanket because between Ana Maria (far from Will's ideal of femininity, but apparently she thought he was a nice looking bit of stuff, and it would be a shame if he died before they could make a bunk shake. He regretted asking) and the ship's surgeon, they both insisted he be kept warm. Well, the word he would use would be sweltering, but every time he tried to stand up, one of the pirates would undoubtedly come over, and sit him back down again.

"Bunch of blithering mother hens." He muttered to himself. He had thought that every man was in it for himself, the atmosphere of looking out for number one permeated the rest of the relationships.

"Wouldn't want ye ta be sick too much longer." Will started at the sound of Gibbs' voice. "But ye know that ye're entitled to share in the profits, lad? Wouldn' have the _Pearl, _t'weren't fer you and Miss Elizabeth. Ye start puttin' in an honest day's work, ye'll be getting yer share, but until then, you get portions of the rest of the crew's dividends." He grinned. "Right now, they'd rather give up a few measly shillings here and there, then have ye cut out another piece of the pie altogether. Lose more thataway."

Will leaned back against the tree he had been parked under, and frowned up at the man. "I don't want any money."

"Shut yer trap, and let us handle it." Gibbs nodded, and left again.

"Honest day's work?" He wrapped the blanket tighter, thought better of it, and threw it off. "As if one of you has ever done an honest day's work."

"Ye look bored, mate."

Will looked up, shielding his eyes against the sun. Jack did the decent thing, and dropped into the sand beside him, facing out towards the water where the _Pearl_ was being pulled over onto her side. When the tide went out, that was when work would start, and it would have to be done quickly. The lines came flying down to the men waiting, up to their chest in the high tide. With a lover's sigh, the _Pearl_ let them tilt her over, with her hull facing the open sea, so that they could repair the battle scars, and scrape off whatever had decided she might make a good home. "I'm being smothered with good intentions." He commented ruefully.

"Bad intentions, I'd think." Jack leaned back against the broad base of the palm tree, tipping his hat forward over his eyes. "Rather surprised to find ye out here. Figgered you an yer Miss Elizabeth would be making babes by now."

Elizabeth. Will shut his eyes. "I figured so as well."

He didn't see the look Jack shot at him from the corner of his eye. Rather ridiculous, actually, underneath that hat and whatnot. Deciding that the boy would be best left alone about 'said strumpet,' Jack shut his eyes again, and settled back more comfortably against the tree. "I hope ye don't mind me askin', seein' as you were right nosy as a dog when we first met, but what in the name of all things profitable were ye doin' in that canteen, Mr. Turner?"

That brought a smile to Will's lips. "Dying."

"I mean, 'sides that. 'ow'd you come ta be there?"

The breath Will drew was shaky at best. When he didn't say anything for a long time, Jack begrudgingly opened his eyes again, just to make sure that young Mr. Turner hadn't drifted off between the answering and the asking. But, no, Will's eyes were open, and he was staring straight out at the sea. Tide hadn't gone out yet, wouldn't for a while. The rest of the men were going through the swag in the little shack they'd built themselves. No one out there but the few who watched for the tide to leave shore. "I convinced them that they didn't need me anymore." He smiled. "Little do they know…"

Jack tipped his hat back on his head. "Didn't need you fer what?"

Will's smile—it was a strange thing to behold. Not happy, no mirth at all. It was a smugness. Jack knew all about that, having gotten one over on countless people, including young Will, a time or two. "Isla de Meurte."

For a long time, there was silence. Absolute silence. Jack finally let out a whistle, flopping back into the sand. "They'd never 'eard of it before?"

"Oh, they had." Will hesitated for a moment. "I just held out through the beatings long enough to make them think that the bearings for that little spit of an island Barbossa marooned you and Elizabeth on were the ones for Meurta." He looked down at the weave of his blanket. Strange, what you can remember when you need it. "Pulled a good one on them."

Jack just shook his head. "You're out of yer bloody tree, son."

He smiled at that. "Coming from you, I'll take that as a compliment."

Jack favoured him with a smile. "Wasn't meant any other way, lad."

"Funny…" Will said softly. "I think it's funny that they knew my name." He bit his lip, a troubled expression crossing his face.

Jack opened his mouth like he was going to say something to Will, but movement on the water caught his eye. "Eh, EH! You crazy blaggards, what in the bloody blue blazes are ye doin'?" He yelled, shooting to his feet. "'Scuse me, Will. Somethin' I have ta take care of."

&&&&&&&&

Her first battle as a pirate was with a merchant carrier. Elizabeth, being the newest member for the crew, managed to gather all the jobs that the rest of the pirates did not want to do, from scrubbing the head to swabbing the decks. She was found out as a novice almost immediately. The other pirates, they were more than willing to show the sprog the ropes, for there was nothing more dangerous than sailing with someone who was completely clueless.

She wasn't as clueless as she let on, naturally, but she learned a fair bit more than her reading and anything that she had gleaned from her experiences on both the _Interceptor_ and the _Black Pearl_. Freeing the ship from the crew of the damned, that was one thing, but to sail an actual schooner in the waters of the Caribbean, was quite another.

When the call came out, "All hand hoay!" she responded like the rest of the crew. Up from whatever they were doing, be it a friendly game of cards or perhaps some needed work, onto the deck of the ship. White sails on the horizon sent a murmur through the crew.

Elizabeth wiped her hands on her breeches, frowning out at the distant ship. "What's happening?"

Mr. Watson rolled his eyes. "Well, sprog, we be runnin' down tha' lovely little guppy in short order. How're ye with a sword?"

According to Will, she was advancing in leaps and bounds. She couldn't afford to think of him, just yet. Not their frequent practice sessions in the smithy, learning techniques other than winging the blade back and forth. He had the advantage of being slightly built, as compared to someone such as Norrington; Will could recommend styles that fit her body. No heavy-handed strokes with weight as a back up, she had to go for finesse, not brute strength. "Not bad." She admitted.

"Broad on the port bow! Overhaul her!"

Watson smacked Elizabeth in the middle of her back, directing her to where she should be. "I hope so, lad, I don' wanta be holdin' yer hand durin' battle."

As they drew nearer, details became more obvious. She was a merchant carrier, Elizabeth didn't need to be told that, so she didn't ask. Ran lightly armed, heavy in the hold. A fast ship, she could make the crossing from England in about a month. Even so, she had been on the water a long time, and she wasn't built to outrun a pirate ship.

The captain gave the order to run up the Jolly Roger. The smiling skull snapped and cracked ominously in the wind.

Some of the passengers had assembled on the deck to see what was coming up on her starboard side. "Grab yer boarding hook, be ready, lads!" Tanis came down from the quarterdeck, hand on her cutlass. A show of strength, Elizabeth hoped. Bloodshed didn't sit too well with her. "Fire me a warnin' shot!"

There were screams as the cannonball roared by overhead, missing both the rigging and the mast. Certainly a good thing, as it gave the merchant ship something on which to run up the white flag. Elizabeth threw the boarding hooks with the rest of the crew, pulling in the good ship _Lucinda _without more than that single shot.

The merchant captain came forth, his hands up in surrender. He looked much like Commodore Norrington—Elizabeth thanked her lucky stars that it was not he that she had taken. She could well imagine being left on the ship, so that he could take her home to her father, probably with his big fingers twisting her ear like she was a little girl. "We do not wish battle, pirate." He addressed Mr. Watson, not the captain. "Take what you will, we offer no resistance."

Tanis laid her hand on Mr. Watson's shoulder, pushing him out of the way. "Now, where be the fun in that, guv'nor?" She offered him a cocky smile. "What ye think, lads?" She very flirtatiously walked up to the captain of the other ship, fooling with the lapel of his jacket. "Someone 'ere with a streak of yellow up his belly?"

The merchant stiffened. "Young lady, I suggest you take your hands off of me."

Tanis made a face to the rest of the crew. " 'Young lady?'" She gave a hearty laugh. "Oh, now, sir. Surely you mean, 'captain,'" she punctuated this word with a dagger against the man's throat. "Don' ye?"

"You?" The captain sneered down at her. "A mere wisp of a girl? What games are you playing?"

The blow was so fast, it was hard to see. The hilt of the dagger up to the man's temple, and an elbow under his chin. The man came up on his feet with the last bit, his teeth clacking together. Tanis offered him a catty smile. "Games?" A fist to his belly, sending him stumbling back. "Ye might be rethinkin' a few things, there."

When he came to take a swing at her, she laid him on the deck without much violence at all. However, when he came up to attack her, he found himself face-to-face with the business end of a pistol.

Tanis cocked it, shrugging her shoulder. "Ye think it'll make much difference ta me, love? Try it."

The merchant captain straightened his jacket, pointedly looking at her, not the weapon. "Well, then. Captain, we are more than prepared to offer our surrender."

"Tha's what I thought ya sed." Tanis nodded. "All right, ye dogs, search her stem to stern!" As the crew rushed forward, Tanis added her last little bit of insult to the injuries. "An' cap'n, I will be havin' tha' jacket."

When they returned to the _Siren_ with their swag, Tanis did, indeed, have the captain's jacket. It was too big for her, but she rolled up the sleeves, and cinched a belt around it tightly. A belt that Elizabeth had seen on the body of one of the ladies who were standing off to the side, quite beside themselves with the 'terror' of having been attacked by pirates.

Dumping what booty she had taken into the pile on the deck, Elizabeth had to admit—this was rather a disappointment. So much for the highly totted lifestyle of a pirate, all flash and dash. She had been expecting to actually USE her sword skills.

The comment was met with a smile. "Aye, lad, t'would be a grand adventure, eh?" Mr. Watson shook his head. "How many pirates ye think we'd be keepin' aboard the ship, if we fully engaged every single time?" He seized a handful of the gold. "Wouldn' ye like ta be round to spend that?"

Elizabeth managed a tight smile. "Aye."

"'Sides, ye'll be needin' that." Watson leaned over, offering a conspiratorial wink. "We be landin' in Tortuga, mate. Rum and women far as the eye can see. Ye lain with a woman, yet, Charlie?"

Oh bloody hell. Elizabeth shook her head, feeling the red blush rising over her face. Mr. Watson took it wrong, but, she supposed, in a good context for her disguise. "Ah, don' get like that, lad. These women, they know the art of love. They'll teach ya 'til ya cannot walk straight."

Nice. Something to which to look forward.

&&&&&&&&

To Be Continued…

A/N: I don't want y'all getting used to my updating every day. That's not the norm. I just happened to finish a chapter today, and I decided to go ahead and give you the second part. I warn you now, I work slow.

Now, what I love the most: Reviews! First of all, thank you, and…

**Ankhesenamun:** I'm glad you think they're in character. It's one of the things (other than the weird narration) that I've been worried about. I hope the second helping still lives up to the standard of 'brilliant.'

**williz:** Whoo! Thanks again! "Charlie" was a spur of the moment decision, and my beta seemed to like "him." I'm glad "he's" appreciated.

And last but not least…

**Forwyn Redearth:** All right, all right, it was a poke. But I reacted like it was a slap. As in, quit questioning her, and keep writing. You're actually quite the driving force behind this.


	3. Ball And Chain

Disclaimer: See Chapter One

A/N: No one is going to believe me when I say that I write slowly. I do, I seriously do. This story is demanding a lot of my time. I'm in the lull between classes ending and exams beginning, and studying isn't nearly this interesting.

Warnings: Other than language? Prostitution.

CHAPTER THREE—Ball And Chain

Mr. Watson had hit the nail on the head when he assumed that Elizabeth had not seen the isle of Tortuga at any point in her life, and until she had actually set foot on it, she would never believed that she hadn't been missing much at all. She often hounded Will about the island, what it was like with the pirates and prostitutes, what he had thought of it. He kept telling her that 'it lingered,' as though that was supposed to satisfy the curiosity of a young woman who had been coddled and protected all of her life.

She believed it now. There was nothing on Tortuga that she would ever lament not having seen. Oh, she supposed that one never truly lived until they saw a man sitting under the open tap of a keg, his mouth agape so as that he could catch the ale as it poured out. Or maybe it was whiskey, she couldn't tell from the scent. Neither Will nor her father indulged. However, you didn't look long, lest the prostitutes who were laughing and fawning over the drenched man might get the wrong idea, and decide that you might be interested in some company for the night.

A hat would have been nice. Something like Will wore, with a feather, to pull down over her eyes so that no one could see that she was looking around. It was new, and it smelled, and, as Will said, it would certainly linger. Will, Will, Will. She had her fingers crossed that this was where she would find him. She hadn't quite thought through what would happen should she find him—but that would be his part of the plan. All she wanted to do was bring him home.

If she had had it her way, she would have hung around the docks, looking to see what had come into harbour. If she found the _Pearl_—it seemed odd to trust Jack this blindly. To think that, perhaps, she could count on Captain Sparrow to find Will. He was, after all, a pirate, and all things considered, in it for himself.

Like these men, although Mr. Watson was quite interested in her lovelife or lack thereof. He kept pointing out the prostitutes to her, telling her which ones were especially good at what—it seemed all that more funny to him when she blushed furiously at the more graphic descriptions of what went on in the bawdy houses.

She didn't even want to comprehend half of them.

The rest of the crew was quite interested in what she would be like under the state of inebriety. No, she had not earned herself a place among the crew, she was very certain that she was the butt of every single joke, and the term 'sprog' was tossed about quite readily. That didn't even take into account the fact that she had a hard time remembering that she was supposed to answer to the name 'Charlie,' making the crew figure that she was a little touched in the head.

The tavern was the first of many that she went to, and Elizabeth learned that there was no such thing as drinking water on Tortuga. You either drank ale or you drank rum, and rum was cheaper. Way cheaper. Mixed nicely with water, the very same grog they served aboard the _Dauntless_. The justification was that the water itself was actually a little darker than the rum. If that wasn't enough to make you gag, the only reason they added the rum was to hide the taste of the water.

The pirates ran the island, there was no doubt about that. Elizabeth winced when a man came crashing through a window. He sat up, shook himself off, and took a mighty swig from his flask of poison. Amazingly, a man crawled out of the window after him—presumably the man who had thrown him—hauled him upright by the neck of the shirt, brushed the glass out of his clothing—and decked him one, right on the nose.

Mr. Watson slapped her mightily on the back, nearly knocking her off of the stool. "Well, lad, ya see anythin' ya want?"

The three prostitutes within earshot suddenly straightened up, waving their threadbare fans in front of their face in what Elizabeth would assume was a welcoming manner. One leaned forward a bit, so that she could see the depth of her cleavage. Elizabeth whipped her head away, covering her eyes. "I don' thin…"

"Whatcha sayin', lad?" Mr. Watson clapped his hand on her shoulder. "These fine young ladies don' be satisfyin' to ya, aesthetically?" Leaning forward, he said, sotto not so voce, "You best choose one of 'em now, lad, while ya still got yer wits about ya. Later on, they ALL start lookin' pretty."

She choked on her mouthful of ale, coughing mightily.

"Now, tha' one in the red, she's mine." Watson raised his glass to the woman in question. She looked him over disdainfully, and made a sound that came across as out-and-out rejection. Elizabeth raised her eyebrows, looking up at Watson. He glared down at her, obviously miffed when she failed to give in, and walked away. "Blasted wench, never did get me money's worth."

Another thing to add to that lovely little spot in her mind that housed all the facts that she just didn't need to know. Or want to know. Muttering something unintelligible, even to her own ears, she raised her cup to her mouth, and pointedly did not look at Watson.

Why in the hell he took her in under his wing was a mystery of the universe. Then again, why would Cap'n Jack Sparrow be interested in a young blacksmith's apprentice such as William Turner. Save the blood that would have negotiated Jack the _Pearl_, had he had a wink of business savvy in his head. For all the swaggering, lurching, and bragging, the man was simply an endearing imbecile.

How she wanted to see him, now. The fun he'd make of her, well, that would be the price she needed to pay for the dubious honour of enlisting his help. The Caribbean was a large place… Will could be anywhere.

She didn't even know what made her so sure he was here. The direction of a voodoo woman? Elizabeth drained what remained of her watered rum, and stood up, giving the excuse that she had to relieve herself, when asked. Stumbling as though she were drunker than she actually was—as long as Watson was drinking, he didn't really notice that his cup was filling up, rather than draining—she headed out behind the tavern.

Damn and blast, she wished that she knew more. Like why. How. What had happened, that would have made her lose him like that? Was the woman telling the truth, as she had been blindly clinging to, or was it something else? Did he want to leave her, did he want to be the pirate she had called him. As much as she loved him, she knew… It was hard to miss… He loved the sea.

He loved the sea, and she wasn't sure that it was not competition.

Lurching out behind the tavern, she leaned heavily against one of the few trees in the whole blasted town. For the first time, she had little else to do but wallow in the doubt that had been trying to get a foothold in her mind since she had crossed the gangplank onto the _Siren's Call_.

A footstep on a branch caught her attention. Elizabeth turned around, horrified to see that someone was staggering around the back of the tavern, probably with much the same purpose as she had told Watson. A man, hunched over, using the wall to walk.

He wasn't much shy about anything. Elizabeth turned her back purposely on it, and shut her eyes, willing him to not notice her, to just get it over with and leave.

"Ahoy there, matey."

Her heart froze.

That voice… So utterly familiar, even if the words were not. In the light streaming through from the streets (when Elizabeth craned her neck around so that she could see just the barest of details), she hadn't recognized him. Backlit, he had appeared as just another man. Her voice was choked when she said, "Will?"

The stranger looked up. Their eyes met, and he suddenly reared back. But it wasn't recognition that Elizabeth read on that all-too-familiar face. It was surprise. "Well, now, lass whatcha doin' back here?" She turned around when he… Well, she was fairly certain what he was doing, but it was not something she wanted to see, and she was more than content to let that remain the case until hell froze over. "ain't no place fer a girl."

That was definitely him. Elizabeth wanted to weep with the sheer relief of it, but she didn't. He didn't look like he had been suffering all the much without her. The time had been good to him, from what she could tell. She had imagined their reunion as a grand occasion, throwing herself into his arms and holding him. No. She had expected to find him half-dead, or injured.

Not drunk and needing a piss on Tortuga.

Feeling braver, now that she was certain that… It… wasn't out where she could see it, Elizabeth turned around, hands on her hips. "And I suppose I should be back in Port Royal, pining away for you, then."

He frowned at her. "Do I know you?"

Slapping him seemed overly dramatic. No matter how her hand itched to cross his cheek, she kept them balled up at her hips, staring him down. "I'm sure once you dry your head out, you will." Pushing passed him, she headed for the street.

So, this is what it felt like to be stupid. She couldn't say that she liked it.

He was following her, though to accomplish what, she didn't know. It wasn't like she would readily forgive him, even if he did drop down onto his knees on this godforsaken street, and pledge his undying love to the heavens. He could talk until he was blue in the face, she would still have a hard time accepting anything that he said.

So, when his hand closed around her elbow, she met it with a fist to his face. Will dropped her arm, stumbling back, clutching his nose. She hoped that it had made it bleed, but if his eyes watered, that was more than enough for her. "Confounded wench!" He made a grab for her, even as she continued walking away. He did get her before she made it to the street, and—sticking out blows that she thought would have at least knocked him away—between a pair of buildings, far away from the prying eyes and ears of the streets.

"All right." He slammed her up against one of the walls. "Wha's yer trouble, lass?"

"You can stop that act, William Turner." She very much had abandoned her role as Charlie Turner. Her words were as clipped and precise as her vocal teacher in London would have liked, all those years ago. "Out of curiosity, did you think that you could just leave Port Royal without a single word to me? That I would not try to discover why the man I love suddenly disappeared without so much as a trace?" What she liked about this—would look back on with absolute glee, actually—was that she had Will backing up a step for every one that she took. "I'm warning you that my temper is very short right now. I don't know what sort of excuse you would like to make, but I suggest that you make it a good one, and fast."

"I don' rightly see where's I need ta be explainin' nuffin' ta a little…"

Elizabeth seized him by the scarf tied around his neck. "Finish that, Mr. Turner, I dare you." She thought about pulling her dagger, but she supposed that she might be tempted to use it.

He looked down at her, an almost sneer on his face. "Yer playin' wiff fire, lass."

"Call me lass one more time…" Elizabeth didn't get a chance to put her threat into words. Will grabbed the back of her head, pulling her in for a rough kiss.

What she realized, as Will tried to push his tongue into her mouth, was that it was different. Oh, she didn't realize that right away, of course, because she was so spitfire mad that she didn't want to do anything more than let that tongue into her mouth, so she could bite it off. She was smart enough, though, to clamp her lips shut and pull back as best she could.

Still, it wasn't Will. Will would never kiss her like this, even if he were drunk (she had seen this once, when he had saved Jack from the gallows, and felt like celebrating. It seemed like a lot of fun, until he had been sicker than a dog for the next day), because Will had always treated her as a treasure. The fragile little flower that he had always been afraid of holding. He also knew full well that she was capable of knocking his head off his shoulders, should he try to either be too delicate or too rough. His kisses were meant with love, not lust, even when they anticipated their wedding vows.

When she got away, though, she was surprised with herself for being more calculating than honestly, openly offended. Wetting her lips, more to get the taste off of her, she frowned up at the man she thought was Will Turner. "What was that for?"

He shrugged. "Ye looked like ye needed it, lass."

"How's your memory?" When he looked at her sceptically, Elizabeth continued. "If you are William Turner, and I assure you, you look every bit like him, you would know that I am not in the need for anything of the sort. If you are William Turner, and I remind you that you did not say you were not when I called you by that name, you would know that I have every reason to be livid to find you here. I had thought that you were dead or dying at the bottom of the sea, but as it turns out, you're whoring and drinking in Tortuga. And, finally, if you were William Turner, you would stop calling me lass and call me by my given name."

An eyebrow arched. "And what would that be?"

She shook her head. "Are you William Turner?"

"Aye, that I am." He nodded his head. "And it appears that you, young miss, have the advantage of me." He squinted at her. "I haven't a blessed clue who you are."

She nodded. "As I asked, how is your memory?"

"Bit patchy in places. Most of the last ten years." He said this with a smile.

She smiled back, just as tightly. "Then you don't remember the day we met?"

He spread his hands. "It was a lovely evening in Tortuga."

"And the _Black Pearl_?" She asked.

And his face closed off. She had never seen such an expression on his face, not even when he had thought that Barbossa's crew was going to kill her. Backing up half a step, he glared at her. "And where did you learn that name, lass?"

She stepped forward. "Do you remember the medallion you had about your neck? You thought you lost it. What was it, Will?"

"Will?" The man—she was certain he was not her William Turner—his face drained of colour. It was easy to see the greenish-grey cast that it had taken, even in the poor light from the street. "What of Will Turner?"

"Are you he?" She asked.

He suddenly lunged forward, grabbing her arms. "The curse is broken. I had thought they'd killed him. Are you telling me he's alive?"

"Who is?" Elizabeth asked. She had expected a reaction, but nothing like this.

He gave her a shake. "Will Turner. My son, William. Is he alive or isn't he?"

Elizabeth met his eyes, and she saw something there. A panic, as bone-deep as her own. A disbelief that she didn't understand. "Your son…" She knew of Will's father, knew what happened to him, of course, but she hadn't thought that he might have survived, that seemed a little outlandish. " You're Bootstrap."

He set her down slowly. "I go by Bill, now. Bootstrap was…" He hesitated.

"Killed, yes. By Barbossa." The story he had told her, about who he thought was her father… It had curled her toes. She gave a half-hysterical laugh. "When I told them my name was Turner, they thought I had your blood…" She shook her head. "They said they tied you to a cannon and threw you into the sea."

"Ancient history." Bill Turner turned away from her slowly. "Ancient blasted history." Abruptly, he spun around again. "Who are you?"

"Elizabeth." She felt no need for a last name.

He supplied one of his own. "Elizabeth Turner." A wicked smile crossed his lips. "Yes, I suppose that the only lass who would follow a boy to Tortuga would be his wife."

She didn't bother to correct him. Semantics, after all. "Well…"

Bill Turner didn't give her a chance to say anything else. Wrapping his arms around her, he lifted her clear from the ground. Elizabeth gave a scream, pressing her face against his shirt to dampen the noise. A deep, throaty laugh echoed through the clearing as he set her down on her feet. "Shame me Katie ain't alive ta see ya, lass. She always wanted a daughter."

Oh. Oh! Elizabeth returned the hug with a reserved enthusiasm to that, smiling a little. Daughter? Well, yes, she supposed that that was what she was. "Bloody awful coincidence, running into you here." She muttered to herself. "Or was it?"

"Smart lass. I don't believe in those, either." He smacked a kiss soundly on her cheek. "But I need to know, lass. Surely you can understand that. Is Will alive or not?"

"I…" God, those were not tears welling up in her eyes. She would not cry over this. Not without knowing if he was alive or dead, if the tears were wasted, or no. "I don't know." She managed a smile. "What the hell would I be doing in Tortuga if I knew?"

Bill gave his head a shake, putting his hands on his hips. "But he didn't… Barbossa didn't kill him?"

"No." She confirmed. It was the very least she could do for him. His face crumpled, for an instant, before he turned away from her. She hadn't… God, what that must have done to the poor man. "No, Barbossa wanted to. I think Jack tricked him…"

"Jack." Bill repeated. "Jack Sparrow."

"This is going to be a long story." Elizabeth admitted.

When Bill turned back to her, it was with the devil's own smile. "Well, that'd be fine, Mrs. Turner. I've got more than my fair share of time."

&&&&&&&&

_I am a rational man, or at least, I like to think so. I know, academically, that it has been ten years since that fateful day when the soon-to-be captain Barbossa marooned Jack Sparrow on an island, and threw me overboard. Ten years since I managed to fight my way free of that cannon and swim to the surface. Ten years that I hid, ashamed of what I had become._

_More than ten years since I had seen my son. I remember him, just a little boy. He always had my looks, but he inherited his mother's personality, her innate curiosity. He was always in things, trying to understand how they worked, why it had to be that way. He was precious to me in ways that I still cannot fathom, even now. A new person, someone that I helped to create._

_I am ashamed to say that I had thought that time had stopped there. That the boy that I knew somehow froze at that age, because I was not there. If I was not there, he couldn't have grown, he couldn't have changed. He would always been knee-high, with large inquisitive eyes, and a steady assurance that his father could do anything._

_Until I met his wife, that is._

_The William she describes to me over a flagon of ale is not the William I knew. She has the look about her that my Katie had when we were courting, a love that surpasses all things. She still does not know Will's faults, or if she does, she still has patience for them. She speaks of a man—a man!—who risked it all, who chanced death to save her. I probe deeper, as deep as I dare to go, to learn the fate of the _Black Pearl_. She tells me how Jack Sparrow is back at the helm, though more than that, she cannot say._

_Jack Sparrow and my son. Together. It is almost too much for me to comprehend. She speaks of him as 'Jack', without any sort of title, and a fond exasperation that I do not entirely understand. The tale she tells me, how Jack got off that godforsaken island, is a farce, but truly worthy of the telling of Captain Sparrow. With a mischievous glint in her eye, she divulges the true, far more believable story: of the rum, and the runners, and the thousand foot signal she sent up when she burned that cache._

_I had a stab of fear for her at that moment. Sparrow was many things, but forgiving when someone came between him and his drink? He might have pulled his pistol on her. But then, she is young Will's wife. She has to made of stronger stuff than the shrinking violets that usually crossed the Atlantic. No, this lass would take on a shipful of pirates if she thought that she might benefit from it._

_I can see what young Will sees in her. It's my Katie, all over again._

_She fears he is dead. She fiddles with the glass as she says this. I had thought it to be the truth, until this very night. I knew what we needed to break the curse, I was more than aware of it. It was why I sent the medallion to Will in the first place. To scatter the gold, and hold back the blood. I hadn't thought, at the time, that it might have put his life in danger. I knew Barbossa, unfortunately. He would have no qualms about hunting down a child and killing him._

_Again, I realize my folly. Young Will wasn't a child when the _Pearl_ came to Port Royal. He was a man, and he had gained the love of this young lady. I know she's a lady, even if she does not want it revealed. She holds herself a certain way, drinks her ale a certain way. Even the way she speaks tells me that she's not a low-born wench that my son met in a tavern. She smiles when I tell her this, and nods. She doesn't tell me more, only that Will is not the sort who would find a wench in a tavern._

_She tells me of Master Brown, the blacksmith who raised my boy. How she found him in the waves on the crossing, how she first saw the _Pearl_. How she found the medallion and feared that he was a pirate. Then she smiles again. It was a grand adventure, even though she would not want to do it again._

_Barbossa is dead, Jack and my son are still alive. Polar opposites of what I thought. Elizabeth gets a soppy look in her eyes, and tells me that under this light, she knows I'm not Will. She can see it, our eyes aren't quite the same, you see. And something about the breadth of my shoulders. I take away the ale, and she laughs. "I was quite upset when I thought you were Will."_

_"I would imagine." I know many occasions when Katie would come to the tavern to drag me home. She wasn't one that became jealous easily, so long as I gave myself to the ocean, not to another woman. She knew she couldn't compete with the call of the sea, but other wenches, she would have killed them, had I actually tarried there._

_I hadn't, not while she was alive. After the curse, I stopped. It had been a particularly horrible scene, where the wench had opened a window, to let the silver moonlight in. Imagine her surprise when the man who was touching her with the intent to love her pressed a bare bone to her face. I told her, in the morning, that she had drank too much, and had a frightful nightmare. The young woman had been too drunk to discern reality from fantasy, and accepted that. I paid her more than she asked, and sent her home._

_I grieved for my Katie. Don't get me wrong._

_Young Elizabeth smiles shyly. I know that she's drunk, as well. It's easy to see in the high colour of her cheeks. She is a heart-stopper, and she is blissfully unaware of it. If she thinks that the crew of the ship she's on are fooled for a blessed moment, she's sadly mistaken. I noticed that there was a man who paid attention to us when we came into the tavern. He can't hear what we're saying, but he's scowling at me. If she's aware of the danger he poses, she says nothing of it._

_I make up my mind there. I have failed Katie, I have failed Will. The best I can do, now, is keep his wife safe._

&&&&&&&&

"Bill Turner?"

He had been trying to sneak Elizabeth back onto the ship. In her present state of inebriety, she probably would have chosen the wrong one, of the three gangplanks she had reported seeing as they stumbled their way back to the ship. He left her in what he had been assured was her bunk, and would have been heading back out of the ship, if it weren't for...

"Bill Turner." This time, though, the certainty in the words brought his head up.

It had been years since he had heard that voice. It was as familiar as a splinter in his finger, and about as welcome. He turned around to face it with a cringe. "Ah… Tanis."

Tanis drew her blade, cocking her head to the side. Bill stayed perfectly still, a trick he had perfected eons ago. Particularly when dealing with the other half of the love that dared not speak its name. Oh, he had seen worse matches in his time. Gun powder and fire. Chain shot and masts. Hull and rocks. That's about where they ranged in potential disasters.

She curled her lip in a snarl. "Fancy seein' you breathin'."

He drew in a nosy lungful through his nose, and blew it out with equal relish. "Surprise."

"Quite." She commented. Of a sudden, she threw her dagger. It stuck the wall beside his head.

To his credit, he didn't move. It was because he was shocked, not because he was as cool and collected as he would like to be. He glanced at the knife still quivering in the hull. "Nice shot."

"I missed." She snarled. "I was wondering when you would show up again. Can't keep ole Bootstrap Bill down long, can you?"

He ducked his head, chuckling ruefully. With a little effort, and a little wiggling, the knife came loose. He turned it over, admiring the workmanship with an educated eye. "Fine balance. Nice weight. Must have been desperate if you have to resort to using such a fine blade to threaten me."

The smile she gave him was cold. A finely honed expression from the time in her life when she was the tender young wife of his best friend. Back when her weather-roughened frizz was sedated into ringlets, hanging down the centre of her back. She was never the lady that Elizabeth was, but she had been the prize of the tavern, the one that caught everyone's eyes, the woman you would love to go home with that evening.

"I'm gonna assume that you're another of me first mate's hires." She held out her hand for the knife, and he returned it. "I'm gonna 'ave to keelhaul that man."

"Ah, c'mon, now, love." Bill favoured her with one of his best smiles. "It ain' all bad."

&&&&&&&&

She had never been seasick. Ship life was always too much of an interest to her to even think about spending any time at the railing. She had seen a few passengers, though, on the crossing, and what she had felt was certainly the same mocking that she was getting from the crew.

Elizabeth leaned over the rail of the _Siren_, and tried to keep her stomach steady.

Was she supposed to be surprised that Bill Turner had signed on with her crew? Should she have been angry? She didn't know, but she was irritated. Not that he was on the ship, no, but the attitude he had towards her. She didn't NEED someone to hold her hand. She didn't need someone to 'run interference,' which was what he had given her as an excuse. She didn't want him holding her hair back, even though she was glad she hadn't thrown up on it.

There would be talk. Being from her standing in society, she was more than aware of that fact. On a pirate's ship, it was even more pronounced. This voyage had been an eye-opener: until recently, she had thought that old ladies were the worst gossips she had ever heard. No, it was in fact these men. Everything was a potential story, from something as simple as an accidental brush on the deck to the finding of a couple of the crew in a compromising position (although the parties involved insisted that it had been an accident—believable because they were both still very much in their clothing). Even so, an accidental fall into a pile of ropes had no resemblance whatsoever to a man coming over and holding back the hair of a very sick teenage boy.

Even if he was the man's daughter-in-law. After a fashion. Sort of.

Blast it, she was hung over, that was too confusing.

Sagging down onto the deck, she cast a murderous glare at Bootstrap "Call me Bill" Turner. He studied her with that damnable look Will gave her when he thought that she was a little off. It made her want to hit him, even though she had never raised her hand to Will, not even once. Not that she was without provocation. Even a little smug was coming across as bloody arrogant.

"Don't you have something better to do?" She asked him, wiping her mouth with the sleeve of her shirt.

He shrugged. "No, not really."

Well, that was fantastic. Rolling over, Elizabeth used both hands to push herself upright. "Won't that get you flogged?"

Bill laughed. "Not as much as being hung over on watch." Elizabeth looked sharply at him, and he raised his hand. "I wouldn' worry about it, lass. Captain Tanis seems a might bit lenient for a sprog who cannot hold his liquor."

Her lip twitched. "Quit calling me lass."

"Mr. Turner!"

They both looked. Elizabeth could only imagine what it must have looked like, because they promptly turned to each other with what could only be called a scowl. Well, no, _he_ was smirking.

Mr. Watson glared at both of them. "Ah, pardon me. Young Mr. Turner, if it don' interfere wiff yer busy social life, would ye mind gettin' off yer lazy arse, and doin' some work." Then, he turned to Bill. "And wha' in hell are you laughing at? I though' I asked for those barrels ta be tied down an hour ago."

Sending him a triumphant look, Elizabeth got up. The change in altitude was detrimental to her, er, uprightedness. That wasn't a word, she was certain of it.

Provisions had been… oh, blast. Provided? Elizabeth was sent below decks, to be certain that their cargo (to be offloaded in Port Royal when the market was not quite as hot as it was now) was still secure. Considering how her head was pounding, the darkness was a blessing. She wasn't certain what exactly was in the crates, but the ones that she was handling were marked food. One of the men popped it, to be certain. His smile was quite gapped. "Jes ta be sure."

And, certainly, that was what it was. Supplies, so that their cook might make something other than hardtack and swill. Morale was hard enough to maintain without serving rotting, overcooked food. Certainly, being on a ship for months and months, meeting the basic needs of the crew was a good idea, but on a pirate ship where there was only a loose set of rules binding the crew? She certainly understood the need for morale in a pirate crew—while she wasn't awake to hear Barbossa weasel his way out of getting killed, but she was certain it would have had to be quite inventive.

Prying the lid off the last case, she gave it the cursory glance she was supposed to, quite ready to call it a day, seal it up, and put it away. Unfortunately, she had obviously grabbed one of the crates she shouldn't have. Obvious, because it was not foodstuffs inside. It was weapons. Rifles. She quickly covered it again, nailing it shut, and moving it another part of the hold.

It bothered her, though. There were enough weapons there to arm a small contingent. Certainly every man on the ship. Perhaps that was what it was, a storage place for extra weapons for the crew. If that were the case, though, why weren't they in the armoury?

"All hands on deck!"

That was one of the orders you simply did not just ignore. Elizabeth clamoured to the deck with the rest of them, ignoring the buzz of conversation and speculation as she came up onto the deck. Attention seemed to be focussed to the south, including the usually unflappable captain. Tanis frown stood on the rail, grasping the rigging as she looked out onto the water. "Are weapons ready?"

Elizabeth wanted to see how the men arming the cannon were faring, when Bill came up beside her. He put a hand on her shoulder without a word, and turned her back towards the sea. And, when she saw what the fuss was about, she felt all the blood drain from her face. "No."

The _Black Pearl_, in all her majesty, sailing in the opposite direction.

"We're out of range, Captain." One of the gunners reported.

"Blast!" Tanis hopped down, glaring at the assembly. "What are ye lookin' at! Man the sails, we give chase!"

Watson shook his head. "We're too far out, Cap'n. They'll have her moored before we can reach 'er wake."

Tanis's face twisted in a mighty scowl. Elizabeth had seen that look often enough to know what it was: Murderous. A hush had fallen over the crew as she stared at Watson. He didn't look away, just rose his chin up, crossing his arms. Without taking her eyes from him, she rose her voice, "Man the sails!"

"Belay that!" Watson contradicted. "Cap'n, far be it fer me ta question yer…"

She cut him off rather effectively. The pistol was aimed right at his head. Very slowly, she cocked it. "Then I'd sugges' that ye don', matey. I'm tellin' ya once more, lads, then 'eads start rollin'. Man the sails."

Given a choice, Elizabeth would have headed straight for the rigging. The _Black Pearl_ had made berth, and she had missed it? Because she had been drinking, no doubt. Somehow, she knew, she would find a way to blame it entirely on Bill Turner.

Still, hardly the time. Watson narrowed his eyes at her. "Fine. We can chase our tails 'roun' this whole globe, we still wouldn' stan' a chance at catchin' 'im. We wanna take tha' chance, fine wiff me." He raised his hands. "Bu' I though' we 'ad a plan."

Tanis's gun hand started to shake. "He's here. He's right here under me nose, and he's getting' away."

"Though' we were waitin' fer the opportune moment." Watson continued.

Very, very slowly, she lowered the pistol. At that point, she noticed that the crew was standing around, gawking. "All righ', get back ta work!"

Elizabeth stumbled back a step, into Bill's side. Their eyes met. "He was coming." She said, her tone low.

"Aye, so it would seem." Bill grabbed her arm, and pulled her away, somewhere they could speak. It involved the rigging, and before Elizabeth knew it, she was aloft, holding on for dear life as the wind howled passed. A blessing, really, as it blew away the words that they were speaking.

"Did you know?" Adding accusing offence to words shouted was difficult, but she managed. "Did you know that they were to be coming here? Did you know that Jack Sparrow would be right here?"

"Nay, lass, nay." He assured her. "If I had, we'd be on their ship."

The white canvas of the sail blocked the direction that the _Pearl_ had been sailing. Into Tortuga. If she hadn't been up so high, she might have thrown herself into the water, chased after them, or died trying. A sharp look at Bill confirmed that he had feared the same thing. Oh, he tried to look away before she saw it, but he was Will's father. He hadn't just passed on his looks to Will, it was a good deal of his mannerisms, right down to the 'protect at all costs' instinct that had him standing on the rail of the _Pearl_, gun to his throat. "I don't need you to take care of me." She bit out.

"Someone has to." He countered.

Elizabeth closed the distance between them on the ratline. "I don't take that from Will, and I won't take it from you. I managed just fine on my own against Barbossa, I even saved Will and Jack. I don't need someone coming into my life and telling me how to run it. I already have a father, Mr. Turner, I don't need a second one." A gust of wind came up, threatening to throw them both from the ratline. To her chagrin, Bill stood the gust with little more than a flexing of his knees, while she had to hang on for dear life. A fine way to prove her point. "But if I find out that you knew…"

He nodded, taking the unspoken threat quite seriously.

&&&&&&&&

"Damn and blast."

Will waited patiently with his hand outstretched for the spyglass. Jack hesitated a second before slapping it down into his palm. It had come right from Commodore Norrington's cabin on the _Dauntless_, or so Jack told. If it had, it would have been before he was Commodore, because the design had already been replaced. He focused on the ship they were sailing away from at top speed. Sparrow had sworn up a blue streak when he noticed her leaving the harbour. "And why is this ship so intimidating?"

"'oo said a word 'bout intimidation?" Sparrow frowned out at the sea. "Why ain't she givin' chase?"

It looked like just another ship. Pirate ships didn't come out of dry dock like that, they had to be commandeered and then refurbished. Nothing about the schooner screamed threat. Will closed the glass, and handed it back. "And we would want her to give chase, because…?"

"Because it's normal, lad." Sparrow glared at him. "Do try ta keep up."

Will crossed his arms and waited.

Rolling his eyes, Sparrow climbed down from the rail, tucking the glass away wherever in that costume he hid his 'effects.' "She's the _Siren's Call_. Bloody menace on the water, if ya ask me."

"Nothing wrong with her from where I'm standing." Will countered.

"Ye'd think so." Jack smiled enigmatically. Then again, whenever did the pirate mean what he said? "Nay, she's a fine ship, credit to her designer, fastest bloody ship that size… But she still ain't no match fer the _Pearl_." Right, right. The ego needed stroking. Will didn't contradict him. "It's 'er cap'n tha's the problem, mate."

"Ah." Will nodded. "A friend of yours, I take it."

"Friend?" Jack scoffed. "Ain' no bloody friend o' mine, let me tell ya that."

Will laughed. "What's wrong with the captain?"

"She's a bloody crackpot, she is." Jack cast an eye back in the direction of the _Siren's Call_, now hidden behind the bend in the isle of Tortuga.

Now, if Jack Sparrow declares someone a crackpot, one could only assume that it must be true. There was fairly little Sparrow considered crazy. The undead pirates, the sea turtles, it was all this side of sane when you spoke to the captain. What he took in stride, everyone else would take as a sign they should be in an insane asylum. "Takes one to know one, I suppose." Will mused.

"I'm 'gnoring that." Sparrow informed him.

"What are we going to do?"

Sparrow shook his head. "nothin'. Not a blessed thing, unless she follows us. I would hate to have a fight 'ere."

"You said so yourself, we have the fastest ship on the water." Will reminded him. "We can always run if you can't beat her."

Sparrow made a reach for the rudder wheel, but Will had learned from their first voyage together. The arm swung by harmlessly over his head, instead of catching him as it had the last time. "Yer pushin'." Sparrow aimed a finger at him.

"Then, tell me."

He started to walk away, then paused. Turned back. "You and yer lady, ye think the world's standin' back in awe of ye, right?"

Will shook his head. "Now, that is the strangest way of changing the subject…"

"Jes answer me, yay or nay."

"All right. Nay. We're just two people." Will crossed his arms over his chest. "Where are you going with this, Jack?"

Sparrow nodded. "Aye. Shows a lot of wisdom fer yer age." He reached up, twisted the edge of his moustache. It looked like… Well, that just couldn't be. The unflappable Jack Sparrow looked a little…flapped, particularly if he was fidgeting. Will had seen him do many things, but not fidget. "Lots of people in the worl', mate. Plenty of 'em pair off."

Will raised an eyebrow. "Jack, perhaps it's my injury, but you're making less sense than usual."

"I was young once, mate." Sparrow smiled a bit. "Young and foolish. Though' it was love." He shrugged. "Bit of a misunderstandin'."

"All right." Will tried to wrap his head around that one. "You and this captain were… lovers?"

"Worse, mate." Sparrow looked truly pained to have to say this. "She's me wife."

&&&&&&&&

To Be Continued…

After many edits and rewrites, I was told to get over it and post it. Thanks Forwyn Redearth!

And thank you to the people who reviewed!

**Evergreene:** I'm glad you're enjoying the story. Jack's just too much fun.

**williz:** The Tortuga strumpets were a blast to write! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as the last one.

**Ankhesenamun:** You're more than welcome. My issues with not writing in a sexual assault rise from more than just technicalities with a story, I must admit, but they are on the list. Thanks so much!


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